


Ghosts

by DaisyK



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Anti Jafael kinda, Canon Continuation, Cordueva, Fix-It, Jane The Virgin - Freeform, Post-Canon Fix-It, Team Michael, Team Michael endgame, Villadero - Freeform, jtv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyK/pseuds/DaisyK
Summary: If Jane Gloriana Villanueva had been asked, at thirty-two, how many arguments it would take to break her marriage, she would have named some impossible number. Infinity. Infinity a thousand times. As it turned out, the answer was four. But that was yet to come.An unexpected return throws Jane for a loop, a PR disaster threatens the Marbella, a murder connects them all. OR: the Cordueva endgame we all deserved.





	1. Chapter 1

If Jane Gloriana Villanueva had been asked, at thirty-two, how many arguments it would take to break her marriage, she would have named some impossible number.

Infinity.

Infinity a thousand times.

As it turned out, the answer was four. But that was yet to come.

At that moment, encased in the familiar comforts of her home, nothing could have convinced her that her world was about to shatter. Later, when she traced it all back, she would conclude that this was the last moment of peace.

And then, an innocent question.

“Mommy, where’s re-con-cil-i-a-tion?” Mateo spelled out the alien word one syllable at a time.

“Wow, reconciliation is a big word, Mateo,” said Jane, smiling at her son across the table. “But it’s not a place. Reconciliation is when you do something wrong, and you make it right.”

“Oh,” said Mateo, confusion edged on his face. “But James from Sunday school said he was going there?”

Beside her, Rafael tensed. It was almost imperceptible, just the smallest shift in posture, but Jane took note. She did not want to re-open the argument over Mateo’s Sunday school attendance; it had been a hard-won battle.

“Going to reconciliation means going to confession,” she said. “You go in to this little booth in church, and you tell the Father something bad or naughty you’ve done, something you feel bad about, and God forgives you.”

Mateo considered this. Jane could practically see the puzzle pieces moving in his mind; trying to create a complete pattern.

“So it’s like saying sorry to God?” he said.

“Exactly!” said Jane.

“And, if I say sorry, God won’t be mad at me anymore?”

“God is never mad at you, Mateo. _ Never_. If you go to confession, he will always forgive you, no matter what.”

“Okay,” said Mateo.

“But you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” said Rafael, his voice a fraction too stern.

“Well…” said Jane, choosing her words carefully. “You can’t have your First Communion before you’ve been to confession. And you wanted to do that with the other kids, didn’t you?”

Mateo nodded his head with vigour. Jane suspected that the main reason he was so eager to have his first communion had as much to do with the promised party and presents as it did with God’s grace, but she did not want to rock an already unsteady boat.

“Can I go play in my room?” said Mateo, already filled with joyful anticipation of the imaginary adventures he was about to embark on. His legs were swinging back and forth in the air, although he was nearly big enough to reach the floor now.

“Put away your plate first,” said Jane.

Stopping his legs mid-motion, Mateo stood up and grabbed his plate. Jane rose as well, following him to the sink.

“Careful,” she exclaimed after her son, who had bolted at break-neck speed around the corner. She smiled to herself._ This is my life_, she thought, and gratitude washed over her.

She was rinsing a plate when her phone buzzed. Her mother was calling. She was about to answer when Rafael spoke.

“I don’t want Mateo to go to confession.”

Her heart sank. She should have seen this coming. Sending Xiomara’s call to voicemail, she turned to her husband.

“Rafael,” she said, her voice pleading.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t. He’s eight! I don’t want him to start feeling guilty about every little thing!”

_ Ding! _Jane ignored the text.

“Confession isn’t about guilt, it’s about accountability,” she said, “It teaches kids to think about their mistakes, and to ask for forgiveness.”

“And you’re telling me that recounting everything you’ve ever done wrong isn’t about guilt?” Rafael said. His voice was calm, but the words came too fast, laced with something close to venom.

_ Ding! _

“It’s a good thing, Rafael. I’ve been going to confession since I was seven, and it’s never done me any harm.”

“And you’re not filled with Catholic guilt,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, meeting her eye with an intensity she had not seen for some time.

_ He’s not trying to hurt you_, she thought. _ He just wants what’s best for Mateo, this is not about you_. This was a mantra she had repeated many times. Whenever this side of her husband reared its head, she reminded herself that his words were not meant to wound, but came from a place of love.

“That was more because of my grandma than confession,” she said.

_ Ding! _

“Exactly! And since when does your grandma decide how we raise our son?”

“She doesn't! It’s not about her, this is important to_ me_, Rafael.”

_ Ding! _

“Are you sure about that? Or are you just doing this because it’s what your family would want? Because that’s not how I want to raise my son.”

“It’s not-” The sound of her phone ringing interrupted.

“Who keeps texting you?” asked Rafael

“It’s my mom.”

For a moment they stood silent, their eyes trained on each other, as if measuring up an opponent. Rafael was standing by the table, his plate still where he’d left it. He could be so large when he wanted to; with his chest puffed out and his eyes intense but always betraying his emotions. She tried to read them now but found nothing but anger.

“You should take it,” he said, turning away from her.

She hesitated, not wanting to end the argument like this, with so much still unsaid between them. If she took the time, she could fix this.

She answered the phone instead.

“Ma, this isn’t a gre-”

“So you know how your dad’s been acting weird lately?” Xiomara interrupted, her words coming hard and fast.

“Weird how?” she said, shooting Raf an apologetic look.

“Just weird. Secretive. Anyway, I was going to talk to him about it, like you said, and he totally shut me down! And then he left to take a shower and he got this text.”

“You went snooping on his phone?”

“I know, I know, but _ listen_! He got a text from someone called M that said ‘ _ I miss you too. Fine, Del Santo’s at 5? _’”

“It’s probably just a work thing. Ma, you’re overreacting.”

“Oh, _ am I _ ?” said Xiomara, her pitch rising with every word. “I opened the conversation, and M said something like ‘_We shouldn’t do this,_’ and Rogelio’s like ‘_She doesn’t need to know, just one coffee, please._’ and then ‘_I miss you_’!”

“Okay, I admit that sounds pretty bad,” she said, trying to keep her tone measured. “But I’m sure there’s a reasonable-” The sound of cars honking in the background made her pause. “Where are you?”

“I’m going to confront him!” said Xiomara, her words filled with reckless anger.

“Ma, no! That’s a terrible idea! Just talk to him!”

“Oh, I’m gonna talk to him. I’m gonna talk right to his stupid, sneaking, lying face!”

“Ma, no-”

It took Jane a moment to realise she was speaking to the dial tone. She looked at her phone, bewilderment and anger rising within her.

“She hung up on me,” she said. Then, to her husband “I have to go.”

“What?” he demanded, turning his head sharply towards her.

“I’m really sorry, Raf, but my mom’s about to do something _ really _ stupid, and I have to stop her!”

“Right,” he gritted out, the venom in his voice no longer disguised. The bitter resentment hurt her more than if he had shouted.

“Please don’t be mad,” she said, taking a step toward him. She wanted nothing more than to touch him, but she knew he did not want comfort. “We’ll talk about this later, I promise.”

“Right,” he said again, turning away from her.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Jane spoke softly as she took another step in his direction.

“Just go, Jane,” Rafael responded, his grip tightening around the back of the dining chair, his gaze resolute on the wall. Anything but her. She knew there was nothing she could say to calm him at that moment. He would need time.

“I…we’ll talk later,” Jane stated, and walked out

* * *.

As Jane pulled in to the parking lot, she could see Xiomara slamming her car door.

She wound down her window and yelled. “Ma!”

Xiomara turned, her expression shifting from confusion to rage. “What are you doing here, Jane?”

“Stopping you,” Jane replied. “Please, just get in the car.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Xiomara’s resolve seemed to falter. Holding her mother’s gaze, Jane moved her hand towards the passenger side, looking for the door handle. If she could just get Xo in to the car, she would be able to talk her down.

A car horn sounded behind her, and she turned involuntarily toward the sound. She was blocking the entrance. With an irritable wave she turned back to her mother, but Xo was already walking away.

Her parking was not up to her usual standards, her car far too close to the line, but Jane did not care. Grabbing her purse, she left the car and took chase. Rounding the corner, her lungs aching from the short sprint, she found Xiomara waiting impatiently at a pedestrian crossing - heavy traffic the only thing between her and the man she hoped to confront. Spotting Jane, she eyed the red light as if it had insulted her.

“Please… be… reasonable…” Jane said, between laboured breaths. Having caught up to her mother, she leaned against a nearby pole. “Whoo, I’m really out of shape… Ma, stop!”

As soon as the light turned, Xiomara was off, marching with forceful determination across the street. As Jane once again took chase, she could see Del Santo’s on the other side. Its lush outdoor space was inviting, but not romantic. This was not somewhere you took a secret lover, she registered with some relief.

“There he is!” said Xo, slowing her pace as she approached the brick wall shielding her from view. Jane saw him, too. His phone was in his hand, but he was not looking at it. His eyes shifted between the café entrance and the street, his hand tapping out a nervous beat on the table.

“Ma, listen to me,” Jane said, snatching her opportunity to grab on to Xiomara’s arm, making her turn towards her. “You can’t just walk up and confront him.”

“You’re right,” said Xo, positioning herself against the painted brick for a safer vantage point. “Wait until she’s here, and I can confront them both!”

“That’s not what I meant! Mom, there is no way dad is cheating on you! If he is hiding something from you-”.

“Which he is!” Xo cut in.

“Maybe, but there’s got to be another reason… He could be planning some kind of surprise for you!”

“Maybe…” said Xo, doubt crossing her face for the first time. The tight panicky knot in Jane’s chest started to unwind, and she loosened her grip on Xiomara’s arm. For a moment, the crisis seemed averted.

“Or maybe that’s her,” said Xo, her voice like ice. A woman was approaching Rogelio’s table. Jane could only see her back, her dark ponytail bouncing in the afternoon sunlight.

“What the hell are you doing here, Rogelio?!” Xo shouted, storming towards her husband, nearly causing the startled waitress to drop her tray of drinks.

“Mom, she’s just the waitress,” said Jane, trying her best to sound reasonable as she followed her mother.

“Oh yeah?” Xo gestured in the waitress’s direction, who looked thoroughly baffled. “Two coffees!” She pointed towards the drinks on Rogelio’s table, rounding on him.

“Xiomara, please, I can explain!” Rogelio blurted, looking both frightened and in awe of his wife. “Please.”

“Explain, then,” replied Xo, her voice cool. Rogelio took a deep breath. He was about to speak when he spotted Jane, and his face froze.

“We should go,” he said, rising hastily to his feet.

“Oh no, you don’t,” said Xiomara. She grabbed the closest chair and sat down, her arms crossed, eyes on her husband. “I’m staying right here until you explain.”

“Please, Xiomara, I will explain everything, but we can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” she said, crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair, her expression challenging.

“Yeah, dad, what’s going on?” asked Jane.

Rogelio looked from his wife to his daughter, cornered. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but stopped abruptly. His gaze shifted to something behind Jane, sadness and resignation on his face. Xiomara turned her head, her eyes widening.

Jane turned, and time rewound. She could practically feel the last few years melt away. Once upon a time, that face had been home to her.

“Michael?” she gasped, her words close to a whisper.

“Hi, Jane.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This has been a labour of love, and continues to be. I’m hoping to post at least a chapter a week, probably on Thursdays.
> 
> I just want to give a massive shoutout and many thanks to my lovely beta readers Autumn and Angelie, without whom this and all subsequent chapters would be practically unreadable.


	2. Chapter 2

** _3 days earlier _ **

“Here’s what we’ve got,” said Dennis. He leaned forward in his chair, moving the computer mouse to open up a folder. The brief silence was punctuated by the sound of a pen repeatedly clicking, the end bouncing against the desk. “We’ve got operatives working to infiltrate groups in Miami that we suspect are taking orders from the Online Silk Road. We’re hoping to infiltrate their systems to identify the Dread Pirate Roberts, but so far no luck.”

The pen kept clicking, the noise getting louder by the second, boring into Michael’s brain. He had forgotten this habit of his former partner. In Dennis’s familiar untidy office, the incessant noise reverberated in his mind, like a ticking clock in reverse, bringing his former life back in stark detail.

Dennis plowed on. “Only higher-ups in these organisations can access the network. But, while working a smuggling operation linked to the Silk Road, we ran across an old friend of yours.”

With a click of the mouse a photograph filled the screen. The face of Matthew Roderick was not easily forgotten. With a scar running across the left side of his face, it was hard to tell which of his eyes was more terrifying; the dark black one, or the ice blue glass eye he had chosen for the left socket. Even in this blurry, under-saturated image the sight of him made a chill run down Michael’s spine. He nodded his recognition.

“We think Roderick jumped ship when the Sin Rostro network went under,” explained Dennis. “He’s now running his own operation in Miami, but we have reason to believe he’s taking orders directly from Dread Pirate Roberts. Goes by the moniker ‘Fezzik’.”

“Clever,” said Michael.

“According to our agents, Fezzik is expecting a large shipment in the next few days. We’ve already set up a sting. If we’re right, and he’s working directly under the Dread Pirate Roberts, we need him to flip. His access to the Silk Road could be used to track Roberts and take the whole operation down. But he’s not the talkative type. Our best option is to rack up enough charges against him that he’ll agree to a plea.”

“So what do you need me for?” Michael asked. “I’m just a ranch hand.” Although intrigued, he could not see where he fit in to Dennis’s plan.

“I know,” said Dennis, “but you got further than anyone on the Sin Rostro case, and he was part of her network. We need anything you’ve got on Roderick, anything that could potentially add a few more years to his sentence. We’re hoping that if we present him with enough charges, he’ll take the plea outright. But, if that doesn’t work, we may need you on the stand.”

Michael nodded, considering. “So you’d need me to stay in Miami?”

“Hopefully for no longer than a couple of weeks, depends on whether he decides to go to trial.” Dennis turned to him, pausing the pen in mid-air. “Would that be okay?”

“I haven’t had a day off in over two years,” replied Michael. “I’m owed some time.”

* * *

** _Present_ **

At the sound of his name from her lips, Michael’s heartbeat picked up. He had not wanted to see her for this exact reason, knowing that her face would bring it all back. He thought he had missed her in Montana during the lonely nights, but that was nothing compared to seeing her now. He searched her face for a reaction. How was she feeling? How did his reappearance affect her? Did it at all, or was he nothing to her now?

Her deep brown eyes met his, and he found nothing but shock. Reflexively he looked down at her left hand - at the ring - reminding himself.

She was married. She was happy.

“What are you doing here? In Miami?” she queried. Did he imagine the accusatory edge to her voice?

“Dennis is working an old case of mine, he’s called me in to help.”

“You’re back with the police?” asked Jane, looking up at him in surprise and confusion, measuring him up.

“No, just helping out a friend. I’ll only be in town for a couple of weeks.”

He could read relief on her face; It felt like a punch to the gut.

They eyed each other silently, unsure what to say to each other after all this time. She was fiddling with her purse strap, fingers moving nervously around the metal chain, the gold ring on her finger catching the light. The building silence filled his throat, making speech impossible. There was so much he wanted to ask her, but the words would not form in the right order in his mind.

Finally, Jane broke the silence. “Have you been here long?”

“Just since Saturday,” he responded, grasping on to the topic with relief, trying to keep his tone casual. “Ran into Rogelio a couple of days ago and…” He trailed off. Why had he come? Seeing her father suddenly felt like a betrayal. Comprehension dawned on her face, and shame engulfed him.

“You’re M?” Xiomara inquired, turning to Rogelio.

“Yes,” said Ro, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Xiomara, but he asked me not to tell Jane, and I knew you wouldn’t want to keep that from her.”

“You did?” Jane let go of the purse strap, her hands falling to her side. A familiar furrow formed between her eyebrows as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with hurt. He hated doing this to her.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” he said, holding her gaze, hoping to make her understand, without words. “I’m not here to blow up your life again.”

She did not look away. Her eyes were shining, filled with sadness and something he could not identify. Was it gratitude?

Although it only lasted for a moment, he could have sworn they looked at each other for hours. Days. The evening sun shone behind her, light bouncing off of her hair in a miniature firework display. He had pictured her face countless times, thought he had remembered every detail, but his memory had been a poor imitation of her beauty.

She blinked, and the spell broke.

“I saw your book in the bookstore the other day,” he said, trying to fill the silence, willing the words to carry their unsaid meaning; his pride and happiness at her success.

She nodded, smiling, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and Michael knew she had understood. He smiled, too, finally letting the tension melt from his shoulders, his body relaxing. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks,” Jane returned, “I think so.” She rolled her eyes at her own joke, her smile growing wider. He laughed, beaming down at her; this time the silence was not awkward at all. “How’s Charlie, and the baby?”

His smile faltered, reality returned. He had hoped this would not come up. He moved his hands to his pockets, looking away, buying time.

“Charlie is well,” he answered, his eyes still fixed on a point above her head. “But we didn’t end up getting married.”

“Oh,” said Jane. Her eyebrow crinkle returned. “But what about…?”

“She was two months pregnant when we got together,” The words spilled out of Michael, desperate to dispel any implications of abandonment from her mind. “We obviously weren’t advertising that, but… it didn’t work out.”

That was an understatement. His relationship with Charlie had been exactly what he needed at the time. Fiery, impulsive, and a little dangerous, she had been the antithesis to Jane. Every day with Charlie had been an adventure, but in the end they had been different in all the wrong ways. Once the initial excitement had worn off, it had not taken long for cracks to form, exposing them to each other as what they were; scared to follow their new path alone, left to cobble together a future from the pieces left to them.

“I’m sorry,” said Jane

“It’s fine, it wasn’t meant to be.” He smiled to himself. That had been what he had told Charlie, too, before she chased him off her property with a shotgun.

Approaching footsteps made them both turn. The waitress was walking towards them, her cheery demeanour clearly forced. “Can I get you two anything?” She asked with a stiff smile. The implication was clear; buy something, or get the hell out.

Michael gestured to a nearby chair, throwing Jane a cautious, questioning glance. She hesitated, her eyes flickering between her parents’ table and the street beyond. He saw her eyes lock on to Xiomara’s, and could practically hear the silent conversation passing between them.

Xo gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, and Jane turned her head to face the waitress.

“I’ll have an iced tea, please, and a large latte, two sugars. Thank you.”

As she took a seat, he felt his chest expand. He took his coffee black now, had for years, but the certainty with which she ordered his old staple made his heart glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a massive shoutout to my wonderful beta readers, Autumn and Angelie, without whom every other word of this chapter would be either 'said' or 'looked'.
> 
> I'm still super psyched to keep working on this, especially with the story lines I'm introducing in the next chapter (yes, that is a plug, please come back next week I live for the validation) and I'll keep Wednesday/Thursday as my new chapter day unless my schedule changes.
> 
> Overwhelmed by the support you guys, this was clearly filling a gaping hole in the fanfiction market. Love you all.


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you notice anything  concerning about  Mr. Strickland before this… incident?”  Petra quizzed , forcing her voice to remain calm and professional.

She longed for an  Ambien , her head throbbing with tiredness and leftover adrenaline. Her back ached from spending the night  at  her desk, writing and deleting typo-ridden emails, catching a couple  of  minutes’ sleep between frantic attempts at damage control.

“Well, I mean…” the bar manager weighed his options, leaning back far too casually on her pristine chair.

“You’re fired either way, Philip, you may as well tell me the truth.”

Philip rubbed his eyes. He looked as if he had aged ten years since she last saw him, although it had only been that morning.

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll find out from the police report.”

He gave a resigned sigh, sleepless eyes looking up at her. “Okay, okay,” he  leant  forward in his chair, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. “Dustin’s a good kid, mostly. Did his job well. I haven’t seen anything to indicate that he would be on drugs,  but…he  has been known to drink on shift from time to time.”

“And you allowed this?” Petra challenged, temper rising, head still pounding.

“Not exactly. It was just rumors, no one caught him that I know of. We haven’t been down on stock, so he must have been bringing it in himself. He’s been here for years, knew where the cameras are. And, as I said, he did his job well. Never been drunk enough to impede service.”

“And tonight?” she prompted.

“Business as usual, to start with. Tuesday night is normally pretty slow, so it was only Dustin and Amanda on the bar. They’ve worked together heaps, they’re a good team. Don’t usually get any trouble with those two, so I spent most the night in the office. Was only when it was time to swap the registers that I looked at the cameras and… Christ, it was awful.”

Petra  did not  need telling, she still saw the body when she closed her eyes, although  she had  only caught a glimpse of it before the EMTs arrived.

“I thought he’d just fallen, you know,” Philip said, shifting his eyes down, turning his keychain in his hand. “But he was holding all those glasses and… his arm was a mess, I could tell even from the CCTV. So I called an ambulance, and radioed security. Didn’t take my  eyes off  the cameras the whole time, and I kept  thinking, ‘Why isn’t he getting up?’”

Philip’s keys scraped against each other as he moved them in his hand, a noise like nails on a chalkboard. Petra had to physically restrain herself from flinching.

“When I got  downstairs, Amanda was on the phone to 911. I’d already called an ambulance, but it seemed to calm her down talking to them. We didn’t want to move him, because of all the glass. But I checked his pulse and he was still… alive.” He closed his eyes, weariness weighing them down. “And that’s when you arrived.”

Petra nodded. She could still picture the scene in vivid detail; Philip over the broken body, his fingers slipping in the blood. All that blood. She shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the memory from her mind.

“You can go, Philip,” she said. “Please gather your things from the office before you leave.”

As he left Petra closed her eyes, fighting the tiredness begging her to keep them shut. She leaned back, her mind working at a rapid pace she could not follow. Pulling her chair back, she rose. 

* * *

For a brief moment, when  Jane  entered the Marbella lobby, she was shocked to see it in yellow and blue. It had been a  children’s  hotel for years, of course, but for some reason she had expected turquoise patterned wallpaper and coral cushions. 

She blinked, and the alien surroundings became familiar once again. As her mind settled, she spotted Petra across the room, and headed towards her. “Hey,” she  greeted , catching up to her, “have you seen Rafael?”

“He’s upstairs with the girls,” she  responded , not taking her eyes off the phone in her hand. Jane watched her walk off; her usually pristine clothes looked slept in, and she looked unsteady. Concerned, she followed.

As she heard Jane approach, Petra looked up, expectantly. “Well?” she  inquired .

“Are you okay?” J ane looked at her with concern. “ You look… stressed.”

“Of course I’m stressed, Jane. A staff member died at my hotel.” Petra snapped.

“What?” Jane  asked, shocked .

“He overdosed, apparently. On shift. He died in hospital this morning.”

“Oh my God,” Jane  muttered, searching Petra’s face, looking for some clue as to how she was feeling.

“So, yes, I’m a little stressed right now,” Petra concluded, barely looking up from her phone to press the elevator button.

As they waited in silence, Jane checked her phone. She had hoped for a text from Rafael, a peace offering. These usually came a few hours after an argument, her clue that the storm had ended. Nothing.

She had not seen him since the fight, and the prospect of telling him that Michael was back in Miami made a tight knot form in her chest. Putting her phone away, she started fiddling with her purse  strap , tapping her wedding ring rhythmically against the metal of the chain,  a nervous habit.

Petra turned towards her at the sound. She stopped her finger mid-motion, throwing her an apologetic look.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Petra  questioned , her words  tinged  with annoyance.

“Well… it’s just…” Jane hesitated. Petra already had enough on her plate, but she longed to confide in someone other than her husband.

“Oh, out with it, Jane. I’ve got…”  she  checked her watch, “ seven minutes.”

Gratefully, Jane met her eye. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, casual. “I just ran into Michael.”

The elevator arrived. Petra stepped inside, finally putting her phone away. “As in your ex-husband Michael?”  She threw  Jane a questioning glance before pressing the button for her apartment.

“Yes.”

“And?” Petra  asked , a note of challenge in her voice, her eyes still on Jane.

“And…” Jane hesitated  again . And what? How could she possibly describe  how it had felt like time had reversed .  How  for a brief moment the past six years had slipped away from her? “And it was weird,”  she  finished, lamely.

“Of course it was weird!”  retorted  Petra sharply. “You dumped him in the sticks and married a guy he hates, things are bound to be a bit awkward between you.”

“It wasn’t awkward, though, it was actuall y...k ind of nice.”

Petra rounded on her. “Jane, if you’re telling me you’re having feelings for Michael  _ again _ there will be another death at the Marbella.”

“I don’t! Of course I don’t!” Jane  squeaked out , “ It was jus t…un expected.”

Petra seemed to consider, “Good,” she said, checking her watch. “Why is he in Miami?”

Taken aback at the sudden change of topic, Jane looked away. “He’s helping Dennis with a case, I think.”

“So he’s not here to try to win you back or something stupid like that?”

“No! He didn’t even want to tell me he was back!”

“Thank God,” Petra said, “I don’t want a rerun of that drama! Have you told Raf yet?”

“No, that’s why I was looking for him,” Jane said.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Petra held out a hand, keeping the door open but not getting out. “Do you want my advice, Jane?” she said, eyeing her quizzically.

Jane nodded.

“Don’t tell him,” she said, letting go of the door and stepping out.

“What do you mean?” Jane asked, following her towards the apartment door. “Of course I have to tell him!”

“Why?” Petra  turned  towards her, her posture challenging. “If Michael isn’t going to interfere, why does he need to know?”

“I can’t just keep this from him, it feels… wrong.”

Petra reached the apartment door first. Placing her arm across it, she faced Jane, blocking her entrance.

“Do you really want to do this again, Jane?” she  asked , meeting her  eyes . She looked exhausted, dark circles forming under her eyes. “He’s so sensitive about Michael, understandably. Do you want to bring that chaos back into your lives?”

“I have to,” she said, holding Petra’s gaze.

“Why?”  Petra’s expression betrayed concern and exhaustion . She moved her hand from the door, placing it on Jane’s arm. “Just let Michael do his job, Jane. If he’s not here for you, don’t make it your business.”

Jane would realise, later, that the reason she had given in so easily was that  she had wanted Petra to be right. And that she did not want to tell Rafael. 

She was tired of fighting.


	4. Chapter 4

To the untrained eye Dennis  looked  the picture of calm. His expression was stoic as he leaned forward in his chair, training his eye on Fezzik. Michael knew better; from his spot in the observation room he could see the tension forming in Dennis’s shoulders, the rigidity of his movements. The interview was not going well; Fezzik had not spoken since demanding to see his lawyer.

“Your intimidation tactics will not work,” the lawyer  stated , smugness permeating his austere features. An almost imperceptible undertone in his voice hinted at  an accent , but Michael could not place it. “The charges against my client are completely unfounded.”

“Are they?” Dennis asked, his eyes still on Fezzik, his expression unchanged. Only Michael noticed the slight tension in his voice. “Then how do you explain your presence at the location of a major drug shipment?”

“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer, unnecessarily.

Dennis turned to the lawyer. “How about the testimony of two undercover officers? They have been planning the reception and distribution of these drugs with your client for the last month.”

The lawyer leaned back, his face still unnervingly calm. “If your officers had anything of substance, you would not be  _ trying _ to offer my client a plea.”

“Your client has seventeen charges against his person,” Dennis parried.

“Most of which  are  based on the testimony of a  _ civilian _ who I believe recently suffered amnesia,” the lawyer  returned , his smile menacing. ”I couldn’t have asked for a less reliable witness.”

***

“Fuck,” Dennis  gritted out , shutting the door to the observation room behind him. He leaned against the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

Michael looked in to the interrogation room. Although he knew Fezzik could not see him, he could have sworn their eyes met, the real eye just as unreadable as his glass one. Dennis drummed out a fast, unsteady rhythm on the edge of the table.

“This is my fault,”  sighed  Dennis, his  fingers  moving ever faster against the wood. “I messed up the arrest. If we had just waited a little longer, we could have at least got him for possession…now we have nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Michael  replied , falling easily back into his old role of optimistic partner. “You can still link him to the Sin Rostro network, that should be enough to establish a pattern.”

“That is if they allow your testimony,” Dennis said, turning to him in frustration. “That lawyer knows we’re relying on you. If he’s smart, and it looks like he is, he’ll go after your credibility. If he can get your testimony thrown out, we’re looking at conspiracy at best. And that’s before a plea deal…”

“I’m sorry,”  Michael didn’t know what else to say.  The last week had almost felt like he had his old life back, and now Rose was taunting him from beyond the grave.

“ Don’t be stupid, you didn’t ask for amnesia . We just need to establish your credibility, something to convince the judge that your testimony is reliable,”  Dennis gently replied, his expression softening. 

“I could see a specialist,” Michael  suggested , meeting Dennis’ eyes.

“It’s a start,” said Dennis,  looking  unconvinced. “Let me think about it, we’ll come up with something.”

* * *

“Are you finally coming to bed?” JR asked, moving over to make room on the pure cotton sheets. Petra just nodded, unable to even open her eyes properly. She had never been this exhausted, tiredness permeating every part of her body and settling in her bones. As she lay down on the bed next to JR, she let out a low groan of satisfaction.

“How are you feeling?” JR asked, moving closer to her and placing a hand on her waist.

“Exhausted,” Petra  groaned , “I just want this to be over. The police are still suspicious about Dustin’s death, they’re not going to let this go.”

“I thought it was an overdose,” JR  stated , curious.

“Apparently his blood alcohol level was crazy high, and they can’t find what he was drinking. It didn’t come from the bar.” She rubbed her temples,  taking  a deep breath. “And the cellarman not showing up on top of everything… I just need a moment of peace.”

Petra  turned over to look at her girlfriend, meeting her  intense  brown eyes. She reached for  JR’s  hand, moving it from her waist and kissing it, lacing  their fingers together . “I’m so sorry, I’ve been so busy lately, I feel like I’ve barely seen you.” she said, searching  JR’s  face for any hint of resentment.

“It’s  okay. The hotel is in trouble, I get it. Once this is all over we’ll do something special.”

“I’d like that,” Petra smiled, feeling her cheeks  redden . 

They lay like that for a while, fingers interlaced. Although  Petra  was more tired than  she had ever been in her life, every muscle aching,  she  fought to stay awake, not wanting the moment to end. 

After a short  while , JR moved closer. “You should get some sleep,” she  whispered , letting go of her hand and touching her cheek gently, eyes still on hers.

“You’re right,” Petra sighed, turning over onto her back, letting the goose-down pillow envelop her head. As she felt herself drifting into sleep, she smiled to herself, half-consciously reaching out for JR’s hand. The warmth of the touch buoyed her, and although her life was rapidly falling apart around her, she could not feel anything but gratitude.

* * *

When the call came , Jane and Rafael were cuddled up on the sofa, their recent animosity having reached a temporary stalemate. They were both enjoying the newfound peace immensely.

Then , Jane’s phone rang. Reluctantly she disentangled herself, taking a moment to catch her breath before answering. Rafael groaned in displeasure, reaching out for her.

“Hello?” she  greeted .  Rafael  leaned forward, trying to meet her eye as he teasingly stroked her thigh. He loved watching her shudder, the steely composure breaking. Smirking, he leaned forward to kiss her neck.

“Hey Dennis, what’s up?” confused, she held  onto  Rafael’s shoulder, half-heartedly keeping him off.

Rafael shot her a questioning glance, but she did not meet his eye. Taking a deep breath , he leaned away from her, trying to listen.

“I see,” Jane  replied . “That’s… Of course, anything you need, I just… Yeah, Monday’s fine… Okay… Okay, see you then… You too… Yeah, bye.”

When she finally hung up, Jane looked up from her phone. Her gaze moved to the wall behind them as she tapped her finger on the phone screen, not meeting his eye.

“What does Dennis want?” Rafael asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Huh?” Jane  responded , although he knew she had heard him. She took another second to look over at him, seemingly choosing her words. “Oh, he just needs me to make a statement...about Michael.”

“Michael,”  Rafael’s voice was mingled with fear and anger, both rising unbidden within him . “Why?”

“He’s helping Dennis on an old case,” she said, her eyes moving to a point behind his head, her cheeks red. “He just needs me to confirm that his memory really returned two years ago.”

Rafael felt a familiar tightness growing in his chest. Suddenly it all came back to him  - the pain and betrayal he had thought was behind them bubbling to the surface.

“He’s back with the police?” he  questioned , fighting to keep his voice calm.

“He’s only here for a case,” Jane  replied placatingly , shifting her gaze to meet his, her fingernails tapping rhythmically against the ring on her finger. The nervous tick gave her away, confirming his fears.

“You knew,” he said, each word dripping with accusation. He watched her reaction intently, looking for any sign of guilt, but he did not have to look hard. At his words her face lit up like a red light. She looked away hastily, the speed of the tapping increasing. As he watched her grow more uncomfortable, he could feel his insides turn to ice.

“I ran into him a few days ago,” she finally admitted. She shifted her gaze to him, her expression set. The casual tone with which she delivered this earth-shattering news incensed him.

“You saw Michael behind my back?” he  made  no effort to keep his voice from rising, his reckless anger coming out in rapid bursts.

“No, Raf, it wasn’t like that. I just ran into him, it’s not like I planned it,”  Jane retorted, her voice pleading. 

“Then why didn’t you tell m e?”

“Because it was no big deal,  Rafael.”

“Right,”  Rafael’s gaze was resolute on the wall. He did not want to meet her eyes, not wanting to see the guilt there.

“I should have told you, I’m sorry.” 

Rafael just nodded. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Why  could Michael just not stay in Montana? Why did he always have to come back to ruin his life? The last time...he did not want to think about the last time.

“Are you going to do it?” he asked, finally turning towards her.

“Do what?”  Jane’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Make a statement. Can’t someone else do it?”  Rafael held her gaze , willing her to make the right choice. She looked away.

“Dennis thinks it’ll be more compelling if it’s me,”  the calmness in Jane’s voice  forced. “I spent the most time with him when he came back.”

“Yes, thanks . I remember,” he said, bitterness lacing every word, flowing out of him like liquid poison. He felt a mingling of guilt and savage pleasure as he watched the words hit her like a slap. He remembered every second of those horrible weeks  - he would not let her forget.

“It’s not a big deal, Raf. He won’t even be there,” she begged. Reaching out to him, she grabbed his hand and held on tight, her large round eyes looking up at him. The gesture calmed him, her grip bringing him back to reality. He took a breath, jaw still clenched, and his mind started to clear.

“I don’t want him back in our lives, Jane,” he said earnestly, hoping the words would imply an apology he did not want to make. “He brings chaos.”

“He  _ doesn’t _ , he  _ won’t _ . He’s just here on a case.”

Her words crashed into him like a knock-out punch, his fragile calm shattering into a thousand sharp pieces. He could not believe she would defend Michael, after everything that man had done to him, to their family.

“You’re so naive, Jane,”  Rafael lashed out , watching her for a reaction, needing her to understand. “You always have been when it comes to him. Do you really believe he’s not trying to reinsert himself into your life? He’s obsessed with you!”

“It’s been two years, we’ve both moved  on. He’s over me, Rafael! ”

“You believe that?”  he was unable to keep the mocking tone out of his voice. It really was laughable, the way she still trusted Michael. Rafael was the only one who had ever seen him for what he really was;  poison . A threat.

“Yes!”  Jane tightened  her grip on his hand, meeting his eye with an intensity he had not expected. “And even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter, because I’m with  _ you _ . I love  _ you _ , Rafael.”

“I don’t want you to see him,” he  demanded , his mind made up. “I can’t do it all over again, Jane, I just can’t. I don’t trust him.”

“Do you trust  _ me _ ?” she asked, holding his gaze. 

The pause was just a fraction of a second too long, small enough that they could both pretend it  had not happened. 

“Yes. Of cou rse.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I’m so sorry this has taken so long, it’s been a crazy month! I can’t promise I’ll go back to week-by-week updates, but I WILL finish this thing.  
Also I copied this on mobile so the formatting might be a bit weird.


	5. Chapter 5

“On February fourth, twenty-seventeen, you received a phone call informing you of your ex-husband’s passing, is that correct?”  
  
The stern-faced blonde betrayed no sympathy at this statement, barely looking up from her notepad to throw Jane a questioning glance.  
  
“Yes,” Jane said. She angled her face towards the recorder on the table between them, not wanting to meet the officer’s eye. Although she knew she was only making a statement, it felt like an interrogation.  
  
“Did you, at the time, have any reason to doubt the authenticity of this call?” the officer continued.  
  
“No,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm as the memory resurfaced, unbidden. The cool, detached voice ending her life. Reality blurring around her, every breath a betrayal.  
  
The officer’s voice brought her back to the present. “And you did not see your ex-husband again for four years?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The blonde looked up. “No, you didn’t see him?”  
  
“No, I didn’t see him,” Jane reiterated, “I thought he was dead.”  
  
She was surprised to feel the last word catch in her throat. She had not cried over Michael in years. She thought she had closed that chapter, written the final page, but talking about it now felt like reopening a healing wound.  
  
“Tell me about his return, Mrs. Villanueva.”  
  
Jane closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started her story.

  
***** **

  
It was odd, Petra thought, watching the last moments of somebody’s life.  
  
It was obvious, with the benefit of hindsight, that Dustin was on drugs. He was cleaning with unusual vigor, talking in an unstoppable stream to Amanda. Petra could not make out the girl’s expression on the CCTV recording, but her movements were hesitant, tentative, and she kept looking at her friend. It was only towards the end of the night that he became erratic, jumpy, looking around wildly, leaning against the bar for prolonged periods as if steadying himself.  
  
“Why didn’t she call someone?” said Petra, watching the girl’s movements on the screen. It was obvious Dustin was unwell.  
  
“She said she didn’t want to get him in trouble,” detective Abbasi said. “Their shift was almost over, she thought she could get him home afterwards, let him sleep it off.”  
  
“They lived together?” said Petra, turning to her.  
  
“Yes,” Abbasi said, her tone matter-of-fact but her eyes tired. “They shared a three-bedroom with another friend. She was the one to recommend him for the job.”  
  
Petra had not known this, and she felt a renewed wave of sympathy for the girl. It must have been horrible, watching her friend die like that. She turned her gaze back to the screen.  
  
It happened suddenly. Dustin paused on his way back to the bar, a stack of dirty glasses against his left arm. He swayed on the spot for a moment, and the glasses tumbled to the floor. Although the recording had no sound, Petra swore she could hear them breaking. And then he fell. 

Petra wanted to look away. She did not need to see how badly the broken glass had mutilated his body, not wanting to see the blood spilling from his arms and face. Instead she trained her eye on Amanda, watching her panicked indecision as she saw her friend on the floor. She made as if to run to him, but seemed to think better of it, backing away. She looked around, panic evident in her every movement. Then she turned on her heels and ran.  
  
“Where is she going?” Petra asked.  
  
“This is consistent with her testimony,” said Abbasi, pausing the tape. “She said she ran for her phone that she had left in her locker, to call 911.”  
  
Petra’s eyes narrowed as she watched Amanda’s frozen figure on the screen. Her mind was racing, broken pieces of information grouping together to form an image she did not understand. “Can we follow her movements?” she asked.  
  
Officer Abbasi moved the mouse, and a new image filled the screen. “She went through the glass washing area, where there are no cameras. This is the next time we see her.” Petra watched Amanda exit the washarea. Her movements were too slow and deliberate, the panic of a few seconds ago gone. She threw the security camera a quick, suspicious glance before moving setting off for the locker room.  
  
The camera changed again, and Petra saw her loop around to enter the locker room, where she was shielded from view. Abbasi turned to Petra expectantly, her expression curious.  
  
“This doesn’t make sense,” Petra said, her eyes on the screen now only showing the door. “The door is right there, why did she go around? Show me the bar again.”  
  
Detective Abbasi brought the bar back up on the screen, the grainy CCTV footage flickering slightly. Petra’s eyes moved involuntarily towards Dustin’s body on the floor. She closed them for a moment, trying to clear her head.  
  
“The most logical path to the lockers would be here,” she said, pointing. “See? Just around the bar here, she could have gone straight for it. But she went around here,” she moved her finger to the washarea entrance, on the other side of the screen.  
  
She turned to detective Abbasi. As their eyes met, Petra saw her own suspicion mirrored. 

  
*******

Jane wiped her eyes. This was so stupid; why was she crying? She couldn’t let Rafael see her like this. Hoping her eyes were not too red, she headed for the exit, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and this place, with all its ghosts.  
  
As she entered the fresh air, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear the memories from her mind. But when she opened them, there he was. Not a memory.  
  
“Hi Jane,” said Michael, approaching her cautiously.  
  
“Oh, hi Michael,” she said, glancing over his shoulder to see whether Rafael’s car was in the parking lot.  
  
“I won’t keep you,” he said, sensing her reluctance. “I’m… I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.”  
  
Jane looked at him again. For a split second, their eyes met, and she was overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. He looked away. “It’s okay. It’s the least I can do, after…”  
  
To her horror, she felt a hot prickling in her eyes.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked. He made as if to move towards her, but seemed to think better of it. The distance between them was tense, unnatural. Six years ago she would have already been in his arms.  
  
“I’m fine,” she said, wiping her eyes with her hand and looking away, resolutely not meeting his eye. “God, this is so stupid. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he said, taking a step closer. He met her gaze, his expression soft, concerned. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
She nodded, eyes still on his, fighting the tears threatening to spill out of her. He reached out gently, touching her arm, his grip light but steady. And before she knew what she was doing, she was in his arms, fresh tears filling her eyes. His smell brought back the life she had lost and mourned in vivid detail, bringing the memories back to reality. For a moment, no longer than a breath, she felt the past six years fade away from her like a dream upon waking.  
  
A car door slammed in the distance, and they broke apart. Jane looked over Michael’s shoulder to meet Rafael’s gaze. He had seen. He was standing outside his car, his body tense, his eyes filled with hurt and anger.  
  
Michael had seen, too. He took a step backwards, apologetic. “I’ll see you around, Jane,” he said, his tone hardening, eyes not meeting hers.  
  
She nodded, giving him a weak smile. As he walked past her and into the building, she steeled herself to face her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first of all, I'm really sorry this took so long. 
> 
> I'm not Back Back, you know? But I had this chapter in my google docs for a solid 6 months or so and I figured I may as well publish it. I MAY get back to writing this, being quarantined and all, but I'm not making any promises. I'm piecing together the plot, half of which I have forgotten, from some very vague outlining notes. I'll also have to rewatch at least a couple of seasons to get the tone down, which is the main reason I stopped writing in the first place. I kinda... got out of tune with the show, and wasn't up for a whole reset, and then life started happening a lot. I did genuinely love writing this, and I'm psyched for the rest, whenever it comes. It's been so fun working with something that is SUPPOSED to be outrageously over-the-top, where I can really lean in to the Big Twists, y'know? 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, I'm not promising anything but here's another chapter at least. Love you all xxx


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